


so let's take tonight

by fruitwhirl



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, god bless nbc, new years eve as engaged couple fic, the fluffiest of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:11:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitwhirl/pseuds/fruitwhirl
Summary: “Amy, you’re engaged!” He half-shouts, trying not to make too much of a scene. Frantically, his eyes dart around the room, but they’re far enough off in a corner that he doesn’t think anyone saw them.Amy doesn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation, because she just rolls her eyes at him. “Of course I am, dummy.”“But you’ve been flirting with me all night! And then you just kissed me!” He gasps, remembering the most shocking detail. “And there’s orange soda in the fridge! You hate orange soda.”





	so let's take tonight

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i started this in december then promptly forgot about, but then, tonight, after hulu passed on renewing b99, i got an ask from someone to "just post something" fluffy. so i picked this back up. and then nbc picked up b99 right after i finished writing this, so i saw it as a sign from god. anyways. we only stan nbc and nbc only. this is super unedited.
> 
> title from "distant sures" by the cave singers.

Amy Santiago has been trying to seduce him ever since his third beer.

Frankly, Jake thinks this must be four-drink Amy, because sober Amy would never kiss him like this, let alone stick her tongue down his throat, grip the soft curls at the nape of his neck. But he sinks into it, nevertheless, wrapping his arms her waist and spreading his hands across her back. After a few moments of tasting whiskey on her lips, all of the sudden he’s acutely aware of cool metal against his cheek and he reels back like someone punched him in the gut.

When Jake glances down, his worst fears are confirmed: a small, delicate-looking engagement ring encircles the fourth finger on her left hand. But when his gaze slides back to hers in horror, she’s smiling so widely that the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkles up. She whispers, “Happy New Years, Jake.”

And then her right palm is cupping his cheek again, but when she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him, he just pulls back again. Amy furrows her eyebrow, as if confused, and asks, “What’s wrong?” He can’t believe it—she must have forgotten.

“Amy, you’re _engaged!”_ He half-shouts, trying not to make too much of a scene. Frantically, his eyes dart around the room, but they’re far enough off in a corner that he doesn’t think anyone saw them.

Amy doesn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation, because she just rolls her eyes at him. “Of course I am, dummy.”

“But you’ve been flirting with me all night! And then you just kissed me!” He gasps, remembering the most shocking detail. “And there’s _orange soda_ in the fridge! You hate orange soda.”

Jake expects her to come to her senses, to start freaking out because she made a drunken mistake and she undoubtedly has a very loving fiancé because that’s what she deserves (the absolute best, he thinks), and inwardly, his own panic skyrockets because now it’s going to be so awkward at work and what if she decides to request a partner change just because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth and puppy-dog eyes to himself—

His spiraling thoughts are interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he’s grateful for the reprieve. After gesturing towards his phone, he moves away from Amy, who’s got an eyebrow raised and something in her hand. Jake looks down to see the caller, and it reads “Amy Santiago” like it always has (one time he added his usual string of emojis but it just didn’t seem right), but the contact picture is of him and Amy—which is weird since he thought he had set it to a picture he took of her at Charles’ and Gina’s parents’ wedding—but when he squints more because why would Amy be calling him right now, he realizes it’s a selfie of the two of them grinning widely, and she’s pointing to her ring finger, and he looks like the happiest man on earth.

Which, again, is strange, since he’s been in love with Amy for a good few years now, and her getting married to someone other than him would definitely not be the best news in the world. Also, why is Amy calling him right now when she’s literally ten feet away from him? It’s not that loud in here.

Furrowing his brow, he picks up anyways, fumbling with the key just a little bit.

“Amy Santiago, no matter the depth of my love for you, I will _not_ be the other woman in this scenario. Or I guess, other man? No, that doesn’t seem right.” His words are hurried, floundering. He feels his face grow hot as he glances at her real-life furrowed brows from across the room. “Nevertheless, I love you a whole lot but we have to start this relationship out right, but what if you don’t want to start a relationship at all, and you just want to use me as a sex—”

“Jake,” he hears, her voice tinny over the shitty phone connection.

He cuts her off before she can elaborate. “I know, I know. Work is going to be _rough,_ I’ll ask Terry if I can switch desks with Rosa, you guys will get so much stuff done without me annoying you twenty-four seven.”

“ _Jake.”_

This time, it’s so much more insistent, commanding. He decides to stop his ramble, and actually listen to what she says.

Calm. “Look at the piece of paper on the counter to your right, babe.”

And so he does what she says, steals a look at a piece of cream-colored cardstock, and in swirly letters he sees the words “Amy Santiago,” “Jake Peralta,” and “Wedding” all together.

Naturally, he passes out.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, he wakes up to a hangover that extends throughout his entire upper half, somehow. A cup of water is beside the bed, but before he can reach for it he registers soft, bare skin against his back, notices the dark hair in his face and the lips pressed lightly against the pulse point of his neck.

Jake shifts, and next to him, Amy lets out a long groan, electing to burrow further into the crook of his shoulder. A small smile slips onto his face, and he kisses the top of her head, faint. However, the sharp ache refuses to subside, and since he cannot remember the exact cause of it (he thinks the last time he got this bad of a hangover was when he was in Florida, when he was alone and sad and missing the love of his life very, _very_ much), he painstakingly whispers, “What the hell happened last night?”

He feels the vibration of her chuckle throughout his entire body, and she drops a kiss on his chest before enlightening him. “Gina brought peach Ciroq and you decided to have a drinking contest with Sarge. Then you completely forgot that we were in a relationship and freaked out when I made out with you even though I was very clearly engaged.”

“Oh my god.”

“You started talking about how you didn’t want to be a homewrecker.”

“Title of your sex tape.”

“That one’s a stretch and you know it.”

“Now _that’s_ the title of your sex tape.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought, and hit me up at dmigod on tumblr!


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